


Inevitable

by Llaeyro



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Community: hp_goldenage, Frottage, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, Older Characters, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Prosthetic Limb, Salt and Pepper Fest, vague mentions of Ron/Others
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-09 10:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10410480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llaeyro/pseuds/Llaeyro
Summary: For the prompt”Ever since their divorces, Harry and Ron have been closer than ever. Really, really, close.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for HP_Goldenage's Salt and Pepper Fest 2017 on LJ.
> 
> [Read on LJ](http://hp-goldenage.livejournal.com/51961.html).

“C’mere,” Ron says, arms open wide, beer in one hand. He’s leaning back against the arm of the sofa, one leg stretched across the seats.

“What?” Harry replies dumbly, one eyebrow raised.

“ _C’mere!_ ” Ron emphasises once more, “You need a cuddle.”

Harry lets out a nervous laugh. “Nah, you’re alright, mate.”

“Look, Harry.” Ron drags himself up to sitting, eye level with Harry now from where he sits in the armchair. “I’ve been where you are. I know what it’s like. I know _you_.”

Of course Ron knows. Ron always knows. They’ve lived together for two years since Harry and Ginny split, and it’s been amazing. Well, it took some getting used to at first—Ron’s not exactly the tidiest, he can’t handle an ironing charm and his cooking leaves a lot to be desired—but he does make an effort to pull his weight. Harry’s lost count of the times Ron’s nursed him through a bad work injury. The fact that the divorce has been finalised today doesn’t really make a blind bit of difference. He’s still with Ron, in their bungalow, the same as he was yesterday and will be tomorrow. Except that it’s not the same. Because now, Harry has no more excuses.

“Your point?”

“Come the fuck ‘ere, you knob!”

Reluctantly, Harry pushes himself up, wobbling slightly. He glances at the bottle in his hand. He’s not drunk much of it, but he can’t remember how many came before it. Enough, probably. He looks back over at Ron, both feet on the floor now, one arm slung over the back of the sofa. With a sigh, Harry surges forward and plonks down beside him.

Ron's arm falls from the back of the sofa, landing across Harry’s shoulders and dragging him sideways until he's all but laying against Ron. Harry shifts his hips, getting comfortable with one leg up on the sofa, and rests his head in the crook of Ron's neck. Ron feels good. He smells warm and familiar. Harry draws in and slowly releases a deep breath, letting himself relax into the embrace.

“Better?” Ron asks.

Harry wriggles about a little more. “Yeah. You’re actually quite comfy.”

Ron chuckles, patting his stomach. “Well, I do have a bit of extra padding these days.”

“You’re just as fit as ever.” Harry has noticed Ron’s paunch developing over the years, but at his height he carries it well. 

“I don’t need to be fit to run the shop, but at least my job isn’t quite as hazardous as some people’s…” His hand moves down slightly, over Harry’s shoulder and onto his chest. He gently circles his fingers just below Harry’s collarbone, where they both know there’s a substantial curse scar. Ron doesn’t know quite how sensitive it is, and Harry tries to hide the sort of pleasant tingle that runs down his spine at the contact.

“You’ve got that thing on your neck, from the Bavarian viper-toothed moth.” They’d tried to extract the venom for a new line of talent-inducing sweets, but the venom had to be fresh, and the moth had been less than cooperative. It was one of Ron’s favourite anecdotes. His nearest and dearest knew it word for word, and at this point were just glad that the mark was only on his neck.

“Which only stung for a few hours after I finally stopped doing the cha-cha.”

“It was the rumba.”

“Whatever. Either way, that’s the worst of mine, and it’s hardly a fair comparison to even the least of yours.” Ron vaguely gestures in the direction of Harry’s left foot. Harry frowns for a moment, before realising that Ron must’ve just mixed up which foot was which.

“Shit, no, it’s that one, isn’t it? I meant the scar from that parasite the crazy old witch kept in her tea kettle.”

“Don’t worry about it, mate,” Harry shrugs with a small smile, “Even I forget about it from time to time.” Ron knows it’s the truth. The other week, Harry had gotten into bed without taking off his prosthetic foot. In the morning, the anti-chafing and cushioning charms had worn off, and his stump was so sore that he hadn’t been able to walk on it. Ron had transfigured the coat stand into a crutch for him so that Harry could still go to work.

They both sip from their bottles and the room goes quiet for a while. This is the sort of evening in that which he loves with Ron. Quiet, comfortable, talking out life’s little problems or just sitting in companionable silence. Increasingly, though, Ron wants to go out on the pull. After thirty years with Ginny, Harry’s not interested in starting all over again with someone. Sure, he misses sex, but it’s been so much longer than two years, and it doesn’t feel like a pressing issue anymore. When it comes to companionship, he’s got Ron.

Ron. What a conundrum. It must’ve been about ten years now since he and Hermione split and in that time he’s been gay, bi, undecided, straight again, pan, gay again and finally settled on omnisexual. Quite honestly, the whole journey has made Harry’s head spin. At times, Harry has wondered if he might not be completely straight. He gets jealous when Ron flirts, especially when it’s with men. He used to kid himself that he was just jealous that Ron was getting the attention and he wasn’t. The truth was, he was scared of losing Ron to someone else.

At first it wasn’t because he wanted Ron, as such. Well, not… sexually. At first he was afraid that Ron finding someone would mean less time just the two of them hanging out together and, eventually, not living together anymore. Over time, though, Harry started to realise there was more to it. Especially when Ron brought a man home. There was something about hearing a pair of deep voices moaning, swearing and fucking through the wall. So Harry started looking around more at the clubs, not just at the women anymore. However, it didn’t seem he was that interested in guys; it was just Ron.

Just Ron who Harry imagines, when he lays alone in his bed, closes his eyes and wraps his hand around his cock. Harry realises he’s got it quite badly, actually. Just this last weekend he gave up his lie in for the chance to see Ron milling around the kitchen in his dressing gown, which he never deigns to fasten. When Ron instead walked downstairs in just his pants, Harry managed to singe the sleeve of his own nightshirt on the stovetop as he cooked the scrambled eggs. He’s been finding excuses for extra contact, too; fabricating aching shoulder muscles to get a massage, brushing invisible fluff from Ron’s jacket, even retying his perfectly well-tied tie. It’s getting a little ridiculous, which is why he’d been hesitant to take Ron up on his offer of a cuddle. He loves touching Ron. He loves how easy, comfortable and familiar it is but increasingly it doesn’t seem like enough. Harry knows he’s fast approaching the line between friendship and something more, and it’s terrifying. It’s not that he wouldn’t want more with Ron—in fact he’s becoming increasingly certain that he _would_ —but with no indication that Ron feels the same way, it’s too much of a gamble.

“Do you think you’ll ever settle down again?” Harry blurts out, mainly to distract himself.

He hopes not. Not that he would begrudge Ron happiness if he found someone, but he’s perfectly happy the way they are. Ron seems to be too, content with finding a lay every now and then. At least, he never brings the same person back twice.

“I’d say we’re already pretty settled, wouldn’t you?” Ron gives his shoulder a squeeze.

“You know what I mean,” Harry replies, rolling his eyes and ignoring the warm feeling in his chest. It must be the alcohol. “ _With_ someone.”

“You’re someone.” Ron grins down at him.

“Yeah, but you’re not having sex with me,” he points out logically.

“More’s the pity,” Ron says on a sigh. Except he couldn’t have. Not really.

“What?” He can feel Ron tense beside him, his arm starting to retreat from around Harry’s shoulder.

“Well…” Ron drags out, playing for time. He laughs slightly awkwardly, gesturing vaguely with his beer in hand. “I’m drunk, you’re hot, don’t worry about it mate. I know I’m not your type.”

“I’m hot?” Ron thinks he’s hot?

“Yeah, and straight. Don’t worry, I know.”

Harry feels like he’s been punched in the gut, but he knows that if he doesn’t tell Ron now, he’ll never be able to. He sits up a bit, shifting away a little to face his best friend.

“Uh… but what if I wasn’t?” He addresses the question in the approximate direction of Ron’s left nipple.

“What?”

He makes himself glance up at Ron, taking in the astonishment written all over his face. Harry nervously chews on his bottom lip. “What if I wasn’t totally straight?”

“Harry… Don’t joke about something like that, mate.” Ron tries to smile, shrug it off, but his struggle is all too obvious.

“Look, I know fifty-three seems a bit late for a sexual awakening but… Fucking hell, this is hard.” He can’t stop looking at Ron’s mouth, watching him worry his bottom lip between his teeth, watching his tongue dart out to wet it. Harry leans forward a little. “Can I just…?” Ron wants it, he’s sure. Harry closes his eyes and closes the gap.

Ron’s lips are warm, soft and hesitant. Then they’re gone.

Ron’s on his feet. His breathing is heavy and his brow furrowed as he stares down at Harry.

“G’night,’ he says quickly, turning suddenly and striding briskly toward his bedroom.

“What?” Harry gawps in disbelief, rising to his feet. “Where are you going?”

“Away. Bed. Out of this situation,” Ron babbles, waving his hands this way and that. “And then, in the morning you’ll be straight again and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

Harry steps quickly around the sofa frowning, advancing on Ron. “I don’t want to forget it happened.”

“It’s for the best.” Ron turns away, towards his room, and Harry knows it really is now or never.

“No!” He grabs Ron’s arm in desperation, turns him and pins him to the wall by his shoulders. “I’ve been thinking about this for ages. I finally get some indication that you want it _and_ I find the balls to do something about it, and you just want to forget it? How’s that for the best?”

Ron sighs, looking pained. “What if it doesn’t work out? It’s too much of a risk.”

“You used to take plenty of risks.”

“Yeah, and look where it got us.”

“It won us the war.”

“It lost you a foot,” Ron chuckles with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, well… I still caught the bad guy, didn’t I?” Harry smiles back, but it falls away. He speaks softer, leans closer. “What if it would work and we never find out?”

Harry presses his lips to Ron’s again. There’s not so much hesitation this time, Ron kisses him back, and when Harry’s tongue brushes Ron’s lip, he opens up for him. Harry steps forward, his weight pushing Ron against the wall and he realises with a thrill that Ron is already half hard.

“You’re really sure you want this?” Ron says, pulling back from the kiss and pointedly nodding downwards. “Because…”

Harry looks down, taking a moment to realise what Ron means. “Oh, I never can get it up when I’m drunk.” He gives something between a smile and a grimace.

“Oh, right.” Ron sounds disappointed. 

“I’ve got a Sober-Me-Qwik in the bathroom cabinet,” Harry suggests, much to Ron’s surprise.

“Alright,” he croaks out. Harry pushes himself back, lingering for a moment in case Ron’s still planning to bolt and lock himself in his room. He’s not convinced, so he holds out his hand and silently summons the potion.

Ron gives him The Look. It’s something he picked up off Hermione. A single raised eyebrow whenever Harry uses his abilities ‘frivolously’. Harry doesn’t let it bother him, he feels he does enough good to warrant the odd indulgent act of laziness.

“Goodbye confidence,” Harry says with a shaky smile before taking a hefty swig of the purple potion. Ron snatches the potion from him and quickly takes a large gulp. Harry winces at the sudden head rush as he regains clarity. The room and Ron come into sharp focus, and the chorus of panic that had been drowned out in the back of his mind is very much at the fore. “Hello reality,” he mutters, forcing himself to look back up into Ron’s eyes. They’re so close, closer than they would usually be when sober, but Harry makes himself stay put. This is where he wants to be and he thinks it’s where Ron wants him to be, too. Although he’s not as sure about that as he was a few moments ago.

Ron doesn’t say anything. Harry reaches out, fingers gently moving across Ron’s stubbled jaw, thumb coming to rest against his cheek. He leans forward, Ron staring at him wide-eyed.

“This is so much scarier sober,” Harry whispers with a soft chuckle against Ron’s lips.

It’s Ron who closes the gap this time, tongue slipping between Harry’s lips as he gasps in surprise. The hesitation is gone now as Ron’s hand comes up to the back of Harry’s neck, pulling Harry against him and deepening the kiss. It’s obvious Ron’s not used to kissing people with glasses, though. His nose knocks them, his cheekbone pushes them painfully into Harry’s face and Harry pulls back with a wince.

“And you’re still sure this is a good idea?” Ron says with a wry smile, but Harry can see the worry in his eyes. Harry pulls his glasses off before giving Ron another long, slow kiss and a slight role of his hips. Ron moans softly.

“Does it feel good?” Harry asks, trying not to smirk at the obvious reaction.

“Fuck, yes,” Ron replies, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and steering him into Ron’s bedroom.

Ron closes the door behind them and when he turns back, the space between them is suddenly tangible. Crossing it seems like an impossible feat, and not just because everything's blurry without his glasses. Harry starts to feel increasingly self-conscious and pops his glasses back on. It doesn't help much.

He watches Ron shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. “We don’t have to… y’know…” he trails off, gesturing vaguely in the direction of his bed.

“Fuck?” He’s known Ron too long to beat around the bush.

“Uh, yeah.” Ron turns pink and stares at his socks. Harry just takes him in for a moment. Ron’s ginger hair is just as bright as ever. Well, what’s left of it. It’s rather thin these days and, as he ducks his head down nervously, Harry can see the bald patch on the crown. Harry’s grateful he still has all his hair, even if it is streaked with grey around the temples and as untameable as ever. Ron could do with a shave. Harry can still feel the rough burn from Ron’s stubble around his jaw. It’s strangely exciting, a novel discomfort that he’s never experienced or thought about before. He wonders what else awaits discovery.

“What if I want to?” Harry sounds more sure than he feels. Ron’s looking torn, fiddling with the hem of his dark blue jumper.

“You’ve been gay for less than half an hour, mate,” Ron says with incredulous amusement.

“I don’t think it quite works like that,” Harry mumbles.

“Just, no need to rush, yeah?” He steps forward now, slowly.

“Okay.” Harry steps forward too, taking Ron’s lightly trembling hands in his. “So, what do we do now?”

Ron’s hands gently break free, resting on Harry’s hips before gently gliding up and down his sides, over his shirt. “Well, if you’re sure about this, I’d like to make you feel good.”

“Alright,” Harry mutters as Ron presses forward for another kiss. “And next time we’ll fuck?”

Ron laughs, finally seeming to relax. He’s more like himself, like how he is around Harry. “Yeah, next time,” he smiles back, taking Harry by the waist and steering him towards the bed as he speaks between kisses. “Or the time after that, or the time after that.”

Harry's calves meet the bed and Ron's fingers insinuate themselves beneath the hem of Harry's shirt.

"Is this okay?” Ron asks. Harry starts to nod, then remembers his glasses. Ron beats him to it, gently removing them and stepping away slightly to rest them on the top of the cabinet. When he returns he wastes no time taking Harry's shirt off. Ron leans back to look, hands ghosting up and down Harry's ribs. Ron slowly draws in and releases a long, reverent breath.

"You've seen me topless plenty of times. And the rest," Harry adds, thinking of that time last year when Ron had to give him full body sponge baths after a particularly nasty cursed bureaux had left him bed-bound for weeks.

"Yeah, but I couldn't look then," Ron explains, despite looking a little embarrassed. "Not like this."

Harry reaches for Ron’s jumper, eager to shift the attention but Ron pulls it off himself, taking his t-shirt with it and letting it drop to the floor. He hooks his fingertips into the waistband of Harry’s trousers, looking up questioningly.

“Can I—”

“Definitely,” Harry replies eagerly, desperate to alleviate the uncomfortable restriction of his trousers. “You too, though,” he adds, and Ron makes quick work of wriggling out of his jeans. It isn’t so easy for Harry, however, whose prosthetic gets caught up in the leg of his trousers. He teeters precariously, nearly falling back onto the bed before Ron catches him by the elbow and steadies him.

“Let me, mate,” he says softly, hands encouraging Harry to sit on the edge of the bed. Harry sits and watches Ron drop to one knee, then two with a little effort. He disentangles the trousers easily enough, tossing them aside. Harry notices him hesitate for a moment, then Ron’s fingers skate gently over the carbon fibre of his ankle and up to his socket. The touch is slow and deliberate, as if Harry can feel it and, for a strange moment, it almost seems as though he can. Ron’s looking up at him with that searching look again.

Ron’s removed his prosthetic in the past, he’s had to at times, but at those times Harry was in no state to assist. This is entirely different. Harry has previously wondered—thanks to the occasions when Ron would take him out to the clubs and try to convince him to find someone to ‘let off some steam’ with—what would happen in this situation. He couldn’t really leave his leg on; the ankle rotation is very good thanks to a few magical tweaks to it, but it’s still not great when he’s on his knees. It gets in the way, more than anything. Yet it always seemed to him that taking the time to remove it would be awkward and a bit weird, especially for the other person.

Well, he’d never considered that the other person could be Ron. Ron, who confidently depresses the button above his mechanical ankle, releasing the pin so that the socket slides free. He lays the prosthetic aside, rolling the liner down Harry’s shin, revealing his stump. Ron turns his attention briefly to Harry’s other foot, dragging off his sock. Then, oddly, he grabs the prosthetic again, pulling the sock off of that before laying both aside and climbing up to lean over Harry, fists supporting him on the bed either side of Harry’s hips.

“Was that really necessary?” Harry asks with amusement.

“Bit weird to leave your socks on,” Ron grins.

“Even on the foot that isn’t attached?”

“Yup.”

“Wanker,” Harry huffs, but it’s a weak retort, because Ron is gently urging him back to lay on the bed. His lips are feeling their way across his jaw, down his neck, and Harry can’t bring himself to care about socks anymore.

“Fuck, Ron. Stop teasing,” Harry groans as Ron’s fingers once again dance over his hips without going in the direction Harry wants them.

“Is this what you want?” Ron says with feigned innocence, hand rubbing against the bulge in Harry’s underpants.

“Fucking wanker,” Harry gasps, trying to work his hand between them. Two can play at that game.

But Ron moves back slightly, hand still pressed against Harry’s cock. “Nah-uh. I want to make _you_ feel good.”

“Why can’t we both feel good? I want to see you,” Harry reasons, and that seems to get Ron thinking.

He stands up, motioning for Harry to scoot up the bed before dropping his pants. He instantly climbs onto the bed, pink staining his cheeks once more. Ron’s cock isn’t as thick as Harry’s, but perhaps a little longer. His skin is pale, clusters of freckles gathered across his shoulders, his chest scattered with ginger hair.

Harry hooks his thumbs into his own pants and lifts his hips, dragging them down and swinging them onto the floor with his stump. When he looks back at Ron, he’s biting his bottom lip and his breathing is heavy. Harry lifts himself up onto his elbows, raising his chin and Ron takes the invitation, ducking down to kiss Harry. It’s hard and needy and Harry can’t help but moan when Ron straddles him, their bare cocks sliding together.

“Fuck, that feels good,” Harry groans. Ron laughs.

“You’re easily pleased. This has nothing on how I want to make you feel.”

“Is that a promise?” Harry asks into Ron’s neck before taking Ron’s earlobe between his lips.

Ron leans away, grabbing something from the bedside table and then slick fingers are smoothing over his cock. “Just say if you want me to stop, yeah?” Harry’s already moaning when Ron wraps his hand around them both, sliding up and down their lengths. Ron shifts his knees, planting his free hand beside Harry’s head and coming down to kiss him. His tongue glides against Harry’s as his fist works its way up and down their cocks. Harry’s hands blindly find Ron’s hips, involuntarily squeezing as the pleasure builds. Ron’s hand is tight, his cock hot and smooth, his mouth greedy and insistent and Harry can’t imagine wanting him to ever stop.

Ron’s pace falters, his breathing hitches, his fist twitches around their cocks and with a heavy sigh his hips jerk as he comes onto Harry’s stomach. He flops down onto Harry, motionless hand still around Harry’s cock.

“G’me a sec,” he huffs, using both hands against the mattress to push himself up. He pauses for a moment, before looking up at Harry. “Can I suck you off?”

“Fucking hell, Ron.” Harry drags the heels of his hands across his face, trying to distract himself from the effect of Ron’s words on his already painfully hard cock. “I’ll probably come the second you put your mouth on it.”

Ron’s already wriggling down the bed, leaving kisses against Harry’s stomach as he goes. He slides his mouth confidently over Harry’s cock, soon taking him all the way. He keeps a steady pace, tongue flicking around the head on each pass.

“Ron, I’m—” he tries to warn, but Ron only increases the pace. Harry’s fists ball around handfuls of duvet as he gasps and comes into Ron’s willing mouth. Ron gently pulls off, nuzzling against Harry’s hip and planting the occasional kiss. Harry pulls at his shoulder until Ron flops back up the bed to lie beside him. Harry rolls over slightly, hand coming to rest on Ron’s chest. “Well… that was unexpected.”

“Tonight, yeah. In general, well…” Ron laughs. Harry is too knackered to express how that makes him feel in words, so he hopes the look he gives Ron will suffice. It seems to do the trick, as Ron elaborates: “It was bound to happen sooner or later. Hermione said so.”

“Of course she did,” Harry chuckles tiredly. “And what did she think would happen next?”

“Live happily ever after or some bollocks? I dunno,” Ron sighs, nestling against Harry’s side and resting his head on his shoulder. 

“Well, we’ve been pretty much living as a couple anyway, just without the sex. That’s the only thing we need to figure out, so it should be pretty fun, right?” And slightly terrifying, Harry thinks, but mostly exciting.

“Mhm, but we can figure it out tomorrow,” Ron mutters sleepily. “Shut your face and sleep now, mate.”

“You’re such a knob,” Harry grumbles with a smile, watching Ron’s freckled face relax as he drifts off. Ron starts to snore softly and Harry thinks that Hermione was probably right. There is a certain inevitability that seems to always pull the two of them towards each other. It’s almost like there’s some greater force, willing them together. Not that it really matters, he realises.

Because at the end of the day, there’s nowhere in the world that Harry would rather be.

_Fin_


End file.
